The Foul Poem by Naveed Akram

The foul was in for prison,
My utterances condemn your pleasures,
Attacked, bitten and arranged to die,
Yes, our prize is working on poison
As where I land is wondered to represent
A decree tonight.
I appreciate a crying act, to excommunicate
Him,
To be master, and maiden, and monster of the planets
That cry with water and wit.
The foul I have committed is born from the death
Of a master, and a tear has fallen because of this.